


Five Parent Teacher Conferences That Didn't Go As Planned, And One That Did (Sort Of)

by language_escapes



Series: Instead of My Saints 'verse [10]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/language_escapes/pseuds/language_escapes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Parent Teacher Conferences That Didn't Go As Planned, And One That Did (Sort Of)

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Instead of My Saints 'verse, where the team are the foster children of the team leaders.

1\. Fall, 1980

Hotch has been to parent-teacher conferences before. Jenny might be their first foster child, but she’s also the youngest, and Hotch has had a year to practice this ritual with Derek and Penelope’s teachers. Still, there is something different about this conference. This is the one child of theirs that hasn’t spent time in other school systems, the one who is, for all intensive purposes, a blank slate. Next to him, Gideon is a rock, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he reads through the information on the school. The brochure proudly proclaims, “We are TIGERS!” with an acrostic saying, “Teaching Individuals Guarantees Excellent ResultS,” which Hotch thinks would be more clever if he weren’t worried about this conference.

He tugs on his cufflinks worriedly, and Gideon glances up at him. A bemused smile works its way onto his face, his eyes crinkling.

“Nervous?” he asks, and Hotch gives him a perfectly flat look. Gideon snorts and looks back down at the brochure.

They don’t sit there for much longer. The door to Ms. Walker’s first grade classroom opens, and a couple that Hotch supposes must be the parents of one of Jenny’s classmates wander out. They’re clutching a stack of papers, but they’re smiling and laughing. He relaxes slightly. Hotch has never heard Jenny say anything negative about Ms. Walker, but he’s withheld his judgment.

He nudges Gideon, and they stand up in unison. Hotch smoothes his suit jacket, takes a deep breath, and leads the way into the classroom.

Ms. Walker is sitting at her desk, an old metal monster that looks like it could have survived a world war if put to the test. She’s a pretty young woman, with short brown hair cut in a raggedy bob. She looks up when they enter and gives them a bright smile. She stands up, pushing her chair away, and leans across the desk to offer her hand.

“Olivia Walker, a pleasure to meet you,” she says, and Hotch grasps her hand and shakes it firmly. Gideon takes it after him, and then they sit in the two tiny chairs in front of Ms. Walker’s desk. Hotch feels like his knees are in his ears, but he tries to look dignified while he forces his tall frame into the miniature chair. Ms. Walker smiles at him as she walks around the desk and sits in another tiny chair. He has a moment of envy; she looks like she belongs in that chair.

“You must be Aaron Hotchner and Jason Gideon, correct?” she asks. Gideon gives a brief nod, and folds his hands in his lap. Ms. Walker beams at them again. “Yes, you’re quite the hit in this classroom.”

Hotch blinks once, twice, and then looks at Gideon. Gideon isn’t looking at him, his eyes swiveling all over the room, taking in every detail. Hotch suspects he’ll get more information about Jenny’s class from Gideon in five minutes than he would if he spent four hours talking to Ms. Walker. He returns to the matter at hand, his mouth twitching downwards into a concerned frown.

“I’m sorry? We’re a hit?”

“Oh, yes. Jenny talks about you all the time. She’s quite fond of her Daddy,” and Ms. Walker looks at Gideon, “and her Mommy,” and here she looks at Hotch, who knows he looks like an idiot with his mouth hanging open, but he can’t help it, because-

“Mommy?” he asks. Now, he notices bitterly, Gideon is paying attention.

Ms. Walker seems to be trying to stifle her smile, and failing. She reaches up to her desk and pulls down a brown file folder, and opens it. Inside are old assignments and pictures that Jenny must have drawn in class.

“Yes. Every week for Show-and-Tell she tells the entire class little stories about your household. I’ve been encouraging her to write down and illustrate her stories, since she’s very good at telling them. They’re very popular among her classmates,” Ms. Walker says, and she pulls out a few pages that have been bound together with yarn. In Jenny’s colorful scrawl, it says “Mommy and Daddy and Derek and Penelope and Me.” Hotch accepts the offering, still trying to erase the stunned expression from his face.

“That was her first one,” Ms. Walker explains. “The titles get shorter as you go on, and her pictures are more accurate.”

Hotch flips through them wordlessly, handing each one off to Gideon when he’s done. The last one, though, he just stares at. It’s titled, “Mommy’s Pink Apron.”

The rest of the conference is just like Hotch had expected. Jenny seems to be doing fine, other than a little trouble with subtraction, and then they’re kicked out of the classroom, Jenny’s little books in Gideon’s hands. They get out to the car, Hotch automatically getting in the driver’s seat, and start heading to the babysitter’s house. Gideon starts flipping through the books again, mumbling things about ‘schematic stage’ and the colors. He comes to rest on “Mommy’s Pink Apron,” and out of the corner of his eye, Hotch can see Gideon’s mouth twitch upwards. Gideon opens his mouth, but Hotch beats him to it

“Don’t. Say. A word,” he growls, and Gideon dissolves into laughter which even Hotch can’t resist.

They’re still laughing when they pick up the kids.

2\. Fall, 1982

Hotch stares at the report card, dumbfounded. In front of him, Mrs. Laughlin sighs.

“Spencer is a good kid, Mr. Hotchner. A little shy, a little awkward, but he’s adjusting well to all of this. It’s just his grades…” she trails off and sighs again, waving a manicured hand in the air, as if his grades were up there rather than printed on the page in Hotch’s hands.

“Are you sure this is Spencer’s?” he asks finally. He knows it is a stupid question, but he feels compelled to ask.

Mrs. Laughlin nods. “I’m going to be frank, Mr. Hotchner. I don’t think Spencer is stupid. But he doesn’t pay attention during class, he’s frequently disruptive, and he never does his homework. All of those factors combined- well, an ‘Unsatisfactory’ was the best I could give him.”

Hotch looks up, startled. “He does his homework.”

“I’ve never seen a single scrap of paper from that boy.”

“He-he does his homework. He has it done before I get home, he’s done before everyone in the house. Derek, his older brother, makes a big deal out of it, calls Spencer ‘Einstein’,” Hotch says. He’s babbling. He closes his mouth with an audible click, and then shakes his head. “There is something wrong with this.”

“Mr. Hotchner,” Mrs. Laughlin says carefully. “I’m thinking that special education classes might be a better fit for Spencer.”

Hotch stares down at the report card for a long moment, and then folds it. He slips it into his suit coat pocket and stands up. Mrs. Laughlin hurriedly stands up as well.

“No,” he says calmly. Laughlin frowns.

“No?”

“No. I know Spencer. We won’t be putting him into special ed.”

“Sir, with all do respect, denial isn’t going to get your foster son the help he needs.”

“No, but maybe an IQ test will,” he says, and leaves the classroom before Laughlin can say anything else.

3\. Fall, 1984

When Hotch gets Penelope’s report card and sees the B- in Social Studies, he thinks that he’ll be discussing Social Studies with Mr. Abraham, Penelope’s fifth grade teacher. Instead, when he sits down across from him (introducing himself as Penelope’s Mom, Aaron Hotchner, and no matter how many times he says it, it never stops being weird), Mr. Abraham instead says, “Have you considered buying Penelope a computer?”

Hotch frowns and glances down at Penelope’s report card again.

“Do you think a computer would help her ability to learn Social Studies?” he asks, and Mr. Abraham shakes his head adamantly.

“No, but it would help my ability to teach Social Studies,” Mr. Abraham explains, explaining nothing at all. Hotch’s frown deepens and he shakes his head slowly.

“I’m sorry, I’m not following.”

Mr. Abraham points at the classroom’s computer, and Hotch is surprised to find it in pieces. “Penelope has quite a gift for computers. She’s taken apart the class computer four times now,” he says. “Unfortunately, this time, she didn’t know how to put it back together.”

Hotch sighs. “And you think giving her a personal computer would mean that she takes apart her computer, not yours,” he surmises, and Mr. Abraham nods. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

They discuss Penelope’s Social Studies grade for a few more moments, and Hotch stands to leave, but Mr. Abraham grabs his arm before he can walk out the door. Hotch raises a questioning eyebrow, and Mr. Abraham hands him a slip of paper. It has four numbers on it.

“That’s how much you owe the school for the computer.”

4\. Winter, 1984

Gideon gets the phone call in the late morning, and so he cancels his afternoon classes, pulls on his coat, and drives out to Potomac High. He heads straight down the hall and into the administration’s office. When he enters, Elle looks up and gives him a sheepish grin. Her lip is split, and she’ll have a spectacular bruise by tomorrow. He gives her a stern look, but doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say, really.

The administrative assistant looks up and nods at him. “Mrs. Chow will see you now,” he says, and gestures for Gideon to go through the door to his left. Gideon spares one last glance at Elle and is pleased to see that she’s looking contrite, and then walks into Mrs. Chow’s office.

Mrs. Chow looks up as he enters and gestures for him to sit down in one of the chairs in front of her. She’s on the phone, and she raises a finger at him and turns away. Gideon uses her distraction to look around the office. It’s sparse- two, three books on her desk, no pictures, no diplomas, nothing to make it look like home. He sees a small box in the corner, behind another chair, and makes a mental note.

Mrs. Chow mutters her good-byes, and then turns to face Gideon.

“You must be Elle’s father,” she says. “I’m Eileen Chow, but then you know that already.”

Gideon nods politely and waves his hands in the air, gesturing to the entire office. “May I ask why I was called in? It’s been almost twenty years since I sat in the principal’s office,” he says, smiling, trying to make her loosen up. Tightly wound administrative types don’t do anyone a bit of good.

“I’m sure you saw Elle out there,” Chow says, a non-answer. She clearly wants Gideon to answer his own question. He won’t give her that pleasure.

“Yes,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate. Chow eyes him, and a small smirk appears on her chapped lips.

“Then I’m sure you can surmise why you are here. You are Jason Gideon, correct? The famous profiler?”

It’s a jab, but Gideon is adept at mental chess. He offers her another smile. “Profilers know better than to try and profile situations that they’re emotionally involved in.”

Chow’s smile grows, and she nods her head. “Touché. I called you in because Elle was in a fight earlier today.”

“Why call me in? Children fight, it happens,” he says, unperturbed by this information. Chow nods once.

“True, and if this were her first fight, we wouldn’t have called you. But this is Elle’s third fight in two weeks, and I think you’ll agree that’s a bit much.”

Gideon doesn’t budge from his spot, doesn’t take his eyes off her, but he can feel his breathing accelerate. He knows Elle is aggressive- he’s seen her fend Morgan off with her fork for the last piece of chicken- but he hadn’t suspected she’d been in fights. Or, at least, not three in two weeks.

Chow sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “Look. Mr. Gideon. I like Elle. She’s very intelligent, and I know her life hasn’t been easy up to this point. But something must be done. I don’t want to suspend her, but I will if I have to.”

“Why was she fighting?” he asks, and he knows it must sound abrupt, but that doesn’t matter. Chow bobs her head in acquiescence.

“She said that the boy she beat up was hitting on a friend of hers, and her friend was clearly uncomfortable with it,” Chow explained. Gideon nods once, and looks down at his hands. Then he looks back up at her.

“This wouldn’t happen to be Viv Baker she was defending, was it?” Chow nods. “Then you know as well as I do what happened to that poor girl last year.”

“That she was raped? Yes.”

“So you can see why Elle hit that boy. And I would bet that boy was Tyler Leffel, who is known for not backing off when girls tell him to.”

“It is not an ideal situation, Mr. Gideon, I admit. But fighting, no matter what the reason, is not acceptable,” Chow says sternly. She stands up and walks around her desk and begins pacing the floor. “To tell you honestly, if I could ever catch Tyler Leffel in a situation where I could expel him, I would. I’m not naïve to what goes on in the student body. But I’m bound by rules, Mr. Gideon, just as Elle is.”

Gideon decides that he likes her and stands up as well, folding his arms across his chest.

“Is that why you’re leaving the school?” he asks, and Chow snaps her head up to stare at him. It’s a tense moment, but then Chow starts laughing.

“I should know better than to try to hide something from a profiler. Yes.”

Gideon nods again and rubs his left hand carefully, licks his lips, and then nods once more. “Ok. I’ll talk to Elle. Don’t suspend her just yet, let’s see if we can reach an agreement.”

Chow agrees, and Gideon leaves her office. He and Elle talk that night, and a week later he gets a call from Eileen Chow.

“I just expelled Tyler Leffel,” she says, her voice dry and amused over the phone line. Gideon smiles to himself.

“Yeah, I thought you might.”

5\. Fall, 1988

Rossi has never done a parent-teacher conference before. The teachers are sitting at tables around the gym, each with their own little station. Hotch has already left his side, Penelope and JJ’s report cards in hand. Emily’s report card is a bit wrinkled in his hand, but it’s still readable, and so he heads off to find Mr. Hancock (first period, English, A).

After three teachers, he’s thinking everything is going fine, until he reaches Mr. Lewis (fourth period, math, A). He sits down in front of Mr. Lewis.

“Student?” he asks, sounding bored. He looks like he could fall asleep at any moment.

“Emily Prentiss,” Rossi responds, and that gets Mr. Lewis’s attention. He sits upright and squints at Rossi through his glasses. Then he shakes his head slowly.

“You’re not Emily’s father,” Mr. Lewis says, and Rossi sighs.

“I’m her foster father,” he explains.

Mr. Lewis shakes his head again, this time more fervently. “I have taught two of Emily’s foster siblings. And I remember their father quite clearly. You are not him.”

Rossi wonders if Gideon’s shadow is going to follow him everywhere, or if this is just a special occasion. Behind him, he can feel people staring at them.

“I’m their new foster father,” mumbles Rossi, lowering his voice so that the bystanders can’t hear.

“And I’m their aunt,” Mr. Lewis says sarcastically. “Move, sir, so I can talk to the real parents of my students.”

Rossi bites back the urge to cuss Emily’s teacher out, and instead says, quite pleasantly, “Mr. Lewis, it would do me the greatest pleasure if you would talk to me about Emily’s test last week. She studied for it most of the night, because she felt that she didn’t understand derivatives to her fullest extent.”

Mr. Lewis scowls at Rossi. “You know the general schedule for a Calculus class, good for you.”

Rossi’s smile turns cold and plastic. “I understand why Spencer hated you, now.” He stands up and, seeing Hotch sitting across the gymnasium, yells, “Hotch!” as loud as he can. He’s grotesquely pleased to see people flinch at the sound.

Hotch doesn’t flinch, however, just excuses himself from the teacher he’s with and jogs across the gym to Mr. Lewis’s table. He stops next to him and frowns quickly at Mr. Lewis before focusing his attention on Rossi.

“Mr. Lewis here,” Rossi pronounces carefully, “has decided that I am not Emily’s foster father.”

Hotch frowns. “That’s ridiculous. Mr. Lewis, you had Derek and Spencer in your classes, didn’t you?” Mr. Lewis, who looks decidedly pinched, nods. “Then I’m sure you remember that Dave joined our family about a year ago.”

Hotch’s eyes are like rock, and Rossi can’t help but smile at Mr. Lewis’s discomfiture. After a long moment, Mr. Lewis waves a hand at the seat in front of him.

“Student?” he asks. Rossi sits back down.

“Emily Prentiss,” he says, and Hotch leaves them alone.

Hotch drives them home later that night. Rossi rests his head against the glass and just breathes for a moment or two, enjoying the hum of the car and the sound of the wind rushing by. In the reflection, he sees Hotch glance at him.

“Are you ok?” Hotch asks, and Rossi nods.

“Just… not what I expected.”

6\. Spring, 1992

The entire family is there for Derek’s college graduation. Spencer flies in from CalTech, Emily drives down from Yale, and they take up an entire little section. When Derek is handed his diploma, they go wild, and the people in front of them grumble as they jump up and down and cheer wildly. Hotch holds the camera steady, though, and resists the urge to cry. Rossi is calm, too, but beaming up at the stage. Hotch knows that, somewhere in the crowd, Gideon is watching too.

While the rest of the family runs to meet Derek after the ceremony, Hotch lingers at his seat, carefully bundling the camera away until two weeks from now, when they’ll be doing this again for Spencer. After a moment, he feels someone standing behind him, and he turns around.

It’s an older woman, her face lined with laugh lines, eyes edged with crow’s feet. Her gray hair is pulled back in a neat braid, and she’s smiling at Hotch.

“Mr. Hotchner?” she asks, her voice deep and rich. Hotch nods. The woman sticks out her hand. “Dr. Margaret Koehler. I was Derek’s advisor.”

He takes her hand and shakes it. “Yes, Derek spoke about you often,” he says, and he’s telling the truth. Derek had been very fond of Dr. Koehler.

“He spoke about you as well. I wanted to thank you for rearing such a wonderful, intelligent young man. It was truly a privilege to have him as my student for all these years. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have post-graduation celebrations to attend,” Dr. Koehler says, and then she is gone, swept away in the departing crowd.

Hotch stares after her, stunned, but this time his mouth doesn’t hang open. He allows himself two blinks of incredulity, and then returns to putting the camera away. He lets himself take his time, aware of the finality of the moment.

He’s been to about ninety-six parent-teacher conferences.

This one was by far the most pleasant.


End file.
